


Lyudmyla

by angelaiswriting



Series: Lyudmyla [2]
Category: Tom Clancy's Rainbow Six (Video Games)
Genre: Age Difference, F/M, Mentions of alcohol, Multi, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Public Sex, Threesome - F/M/M mentioned, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, mentions of weed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:40:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25788973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelaiswriting/pseuds/angelaiswriting
Summary: In which Lyudmyla is no lady, despite what people might think, and she’s always down for some casual good times.
Relationships: Alexsandr "Tachanka" Senaviev/Original Female Character(s), Elias "Blitz" Kötz/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Lyudmyla [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1985062
Comments: 1
Kudos: 11





	Lyudmyla

**Author's Note:**

> **Important disclaimer** : I’ve never played this game, I’ll most likely never have the chance to, either, but my friend hit me hard with these men when I least expected it, so here I am. Let me know if anything is OOC: I partially read these people’s Wikia, but that’s it.
> 
> **Translations** : tesoro (Italian) = darling // mudak (Russian), stronzo (Italian) = dick/asshole/jerk // ptichka (Russian) = birdie
> 
> [Also on my tumblr (angelaiswriting.tumblr.com)](https://angelaiswriting.tumblr.com/post/625894492016361472/link-with-credits-below-pairing-blitz-x)

**LYUDMYLA**

“ _Lady_.” Slightly taller than her, bald, confined inside an anonymous black suit, the man was smiling at her one of those smiles that could mean nothing and anything at the same time. “That’s quite the delicate codename around here.”

Someone coughed when passing behind her and when Lyuda turned her head to the side, Elias shot her a look. _Need help?_ or so the look in his eyes seemed to ask. She shook her head once, though, the movement short and almost tense and even though she was more than capable of handling a ‘Bureau man’, as she called them, on her own, her German colleague stopped at her side.

“If she had a penny for every time she heard that line…” he chuckled, posture composed and almost standing at attention. Despite the chuckle, there wasn’t a single trace of amusement in his stance, nor on his face, at what he had just heard.

The man’s smile thinned. Lyudmyla had never been _that_ good at reading people, but she thought she knew how to spot an annoyed man from miles away. “I meant no harm,” he said, cold gray eyes moving away from the operator to look at the woman in front of him again. “It’s a delight to see that there are delicate operators among our lines.”

_Boring_. Boring and _presumptuous_ — almost as though caring about one’s physical appearance took away from the hits one had under one’s belt and made them… less lethal, less dangerous on the job. As fragile and as delicate as a flower — _ha!_ It couldn’t have been farther from the truth in Lyuda’s case, but then again, she hadn’t shown up at that poor excuse for an International Meeting (TM, because they were mostly a waste of time these days anyway) expecting for people that didn’t know her to take her seriously.

She had been through it already, and so many times that she had not only lost count, but she had also stopped caring. It stung, and it was annoying as fuck, but there wasn’t much she could do and at the end of the day, ignoring the remarks was by far the easiest way out of possibly highly angering situations. And she didn’t do well with anger.

“It’s a pity that you have to-”

But she interrupted him mid-sentence. “Have you ever heard of Lyudmyla Pavlichenko, Mr.…”

“Porter. Mark Porter,” he grinned, extending his right hand just before retracting it a moment later, when it became fully clear that she had absolutely no intentions of shaking it — nor of reading the identification tag he had appointed to his suit jacket. “And I’m afraid I haven’t, no.”

Lyuda’s lips stretched and for a moment, they matched the man’s grin, even though her eyes remained untouched. “My father named me after her when I was born. And then, when I was made to join RAINBOW, my comrades named me after her once again. She was a fine sniper back during World War 2, had three hundred and nine killings under her name. But she wasn’t called _Lady_ , and neither am I. The name is _Lady Death_.”

From the corner of her eye, she could see Blitz trying to contain his laughter, barely able to hide a chuckle behind a closed fist in a mock and poorly failed attempt at coughing again.

She was more interested in the tensing jaw of the man in front of her, though, and even if the wish to deepen his uneasiness was tickling the back of her throat, she smiled sweetly — very lady-like, if she wanted to put it that way, just to mock the way others mocked her — and that was that.

“Have a good rest of the day, Mr. Porter.” She motioned in her colleague’s direction with a nod of her head, then, and dropped her smile until all that was left wasn’t but a shadow of what it had once been. “I’m afraid my duties are demanding my attention now, but a fine man like you will spot another lady to find entertainment in, I’m sure.”

With those words, she turned on her heels — uncomfortable after the last three weeks spent on the field — and made her way toward the exit.

“How do you manage to stand them?” Elias had caught up and was walking towards the elevators with her.

They had… _bonded_ , if so one wanted to put it. It had happened just a few weeks before the mission they had just come back from, and it had been nothing sentimental, really. Lyudmyla might come off as a lady, but she truly was anything but — or so her mother still complained to her about, every time they spoke on the phone — less and less these days, but even ten minutes at the end of the month seemed to be worse than the most boring of missions.

So, no strings attached. Just two consenting adults that could die the day after and that needed a way to remember about the fact that they were made of flesh and bone, and not of tactic gear and shields and an M24 strapped to the back.

Her middle finger pressed the call button of the elevator and for a moment she stood there, staring at a decently manicured nail. There were still faint traces of blood underneath it and her breath hitched in her throat, albeit for just a second. She had scrubbed and scrubbed, and then scrubbed some more, to the point where she had feared her skin would be left raw and of an angry-red color. But the blood had come off, and she could only see it because she knew where to look.

“Myla?” Elias called and in a flash, she was back to the reality of the conference center floor. “You okay?”

“I don’t,” she replied, barely aware of the question she had just been asked, for her mind still had his _How do you manage to stand them?_ on loop. “Stand them,” she voiced when all she was met with was his puzzled gaze. “I don’t stand them. It hurts, in a way. Hurts my pride. But then again, they can think whatever the hell they want. I come off as delicate and feminine and whatever they want to label me with, but at the end of the day, _they_ are the fucks that have to rely on us for their missions. And that includes _me_ in the package. I still get the job done, _Lady_ or not.”

The elevator dinged. The doors opened with a breathy _whoosh_ , barely audible above the elevator music, and they stepped inside. She didn’t complain when Elias pressed the button for the ground floor, even though all she wanted was a nap, and after a look at the guests’ faces, neither did the liftman.

“Maybe I should have beaten Tachanka’s ass when he found it amusing to bring up Lyudmyla again,” she chuckled, Russian rolling much more easily on her tongue than English ever did.

It was a luck that her friend spoke the language. It was nice to revert back to it whenever someone was around and she didn’t feel like flashing her business for the world to see, and it was much easier than dusting off her shallow German knowledge. Multilingualism was on Blitz’s resume, after all, not exactly on hers.

“He’s twice your age, and probably three times your size,” he laughed, staring ahead at the closed doors and shaking his head slowly. “But the mental picture surely seems to promise good fun.”

Her snort made him turn his head slightly to the side to stare down at her. She, too, shook her head for a moment before composing herself again. “He doomed me with that name. Two words; who the fuck has a two-word codename among us?”

“You’re asking the wrong questions.” He made a noise, then, a _tsk_ that distracted even the liftman from his thoughts and made him lift his gaze on the two people in the elevator with him.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

He shrugged. Big and tall as he was, and he still shrugged and managed to seem just as imposing as always. Not as Sanya, of course — that man was a fucking mountain. “Why didn’t you insist on it being shortened to just _Death_?”

_Witty bastard_ , she thought, for he was right.

*

The hall of the hotel was bustling with life when they crossed it, Lyudmyla closely following Elias towards the bar. She seemed to recognize some of the people that had been present at the NATO meeting just less than an hour ago, but then again, she had been too busy napping and trying not to get caught that she couldn’t be so sure. They were all there for a reason she couldn’t exactly remember — she was still jet-lagged from the mission, and she just… wasn’t interested. She never was when official meetings were involved: they implied all kinds of formalities, uncomfortable clothes she wasn’t used to anymore, dickheads that wanted to withdraw financial support from the very organizations that kept them on their chairs; and she truly didn’t have time for all that. But she had received an informal reprimand by Six in person — sort of, if ‘video call’ could be considered an ‘in-person meeting’ — and so she had to behave.

The bar was the opposite of busy, even though it wasn’t empty either. It was a grand room, with tall windows on one side that offered a picturesque view on the city below, and a full wall covered in mirrors on the other. There were round tables, their surface made of crystal-clear glass, and elegant people that had nothing to do with the meeting she had just come out of sat and chatted in an environment that was the opposite to what Lyuda was used to.

“Did the others even make it to the meeting?” she asked when Elias leaned against the counter of the bar to catch the barwoman’s attention. “I don’t think I saw them.”

He shot her an amused look before he chuckled. “ _Mein Gott_ , no! Maestro is still pissed that we’re here in the first place, and Tachanka joined in with him. They said they would hit the bar,” he replied, but a look around the room revealed that the two men were missing. “Bandit is probably still in his room, ‘tending to his wound’.”

Completely ignoring the fact that her friend was still partially in mission mode, if the use of their field names could be considered an indicator, she laughed at the last thing he said. “I thought that wasn’t but a ‘bruise on his body’,” she recalled. She had managed to take out the offender from four hundred yards away, laying on her higher ground, but a bullet had already been shot and Dominic had been hit. It had been a week ago, and the man had carried on with their mission like nothing had happened, but guilt was still simmering in the pit of her stomach. Half a second too late, focused as she was on something that moved a few degrees from where the enemy sniper had been hiding, and her colleague had been hit.

“You know how he is,” he shrugged, handing her their good-morning whiskey before he grabbed his own glass. “He hates these things just as much as we do.”

She hummed, taking a sip from her drink as she listened to Elias ask the barista if she had seen ‘two disruptive men, this big, ugly military faces and with probably more alcohol in their hands than a human liver could stand’.

“Why didn’t you stay back as well?” she wondered out loud, downing the alcohol before asking for a refill. “I had ‘please Six this time’ as my excuse, what was yours?”

The right corner of his lips rose in an amused smirk and, raptured, she stared as he sipped on his drink, the ice cubes clinking against the glass. The tip of his tongue came out then — and truly, it was an innocent and instinctual movement to lick away that droplet that had almost rolled down his lip, she was sure, but all she could think of was the last time he had gone down on her and how ardently she craved that contact again, now that her body felt closer to exhaustion than she would ever admit.

“I had to make sure no one found you sleeping surrounded by heads of state and RAINBOW officials reporting on our missions.” There it was, that shit-eating grin of his that always made her want to scoff and laugh at the same time. “Plus, I was hoping we could sneak out somewhere, have some fun, and for as much as I care about the guys, I’m not sure I’m into being dicked down by Alexsandr.”

She snorted out a laughter this time and her hand came down to slap his shoulder. “You are terrible,” she laughed, walking away from the counter when he got a new drink and pointed his glass towards the French windows that opened onto the panoramic terrace. “But you could have told me. Could’ve sneaked into the restroom before heading for the elevators.”

Still navigating around the tables, she turned her head in his direction when she didn’t receive an answer and she found him staring, lost in his own thoughts, his tumbler half-way to his lips. “Hadn’t that dude stopped you like that, I definitely would have.”

The terrace was slightly busier than the bar. It had a view on the city and on the lake — and the dozens of press reporters buzzing around the entrance of the hotel as they waited to report on some actual news.

“There you are, motherfuckers!” Alexsandr’s booming exclamation caught everyone’s attention, and a couple of kids sitting at a table for a late breakfast with their parents burst into giggles under Mommy and Daddy’s scowls.

“How much did you have to drink already, old bear?” she chuckled when she reached him, grabbing the bottle he and Adriano had on their table — _Dragon Bleu_. Her eyebrows arched. “French vodka?” she asked as she sat down in the chair to his right, amusement curving the corners of her mouth upward.

“I’m keeping the good shit for tonight,” he simply said, implying that he had plans and those plans involved getting hammered just so that he could avoid whatever meeting they should be attending to the next day as well. “So, did you two do all your homework like the good pupils you are?” he snickered, lifting his right hand to his lips to take a drag from his cigarette.

“Oh, fuck off,” Elias groaned, eyes rolling upwards under Tachanka and Maestro’s amused gazes.

“Nice teamwork, abandoning the two of us to the vultures,” Lyuda chirped in before taking a sip of vodka straight from the bottle.

“ _Tesoro_ , you know these things are not for people like us.” Adriano was in a good mood, but even though she was fairly sure he had spent the morning drinking with his Russian friend, there was still sleep laced in his voice. “We do the dirty job and they,” he gestured vaguely at the people standing or sitting on the terrace but everyone knew who he was really referring to, “take to the talking and hand-shaking. That’s how the world rolls.”

“The Italian _mudak_ is right,” was nodding Sanya, completely ignoring Adriano’s half-amused, half-pissed _Who the fuck are you calling ‘mudak’,_ stronzo _?_ “Plus, I’m sure your pretty face is a much nicer sight than our rugged mugs, _da_?”

They always played around her _Lady_ nickname, but when it came to her friends and colleagues, it never mattered as much. It didn’t irk her, didn’t bother her, for she knew they were playful but still respectful — and even though Bandit had gotten a graze from a bullet on his arm, she knew they valued and respected her abilities, whether it came to a long-distance rifle or a gun.

“News from Dom?” she asked instead, accepting the cig Alexsandr was handing her. The smoke tickled her nostrils more than it did her throat, for her mind had wandered back to that goddamn sniper and the luck _they_ had had when that gust of wind had unexpectedly risen.

“Probably watching porn at the expenses of RAINBOW,” the man to her left snickered, hitting his closed fist with Maestro’s.

“You should stop worrying,” the Italian said, putting out his cigarette butt before lighting up a new one. He took a sip from his drink and smiled at her as a hand came up to rub at a beard-covered cheek. “It really _is_ just a bruise. Bandit just likes to rub it in everyone’s face to avoid boring-ass meetings, not because he’s in pain.”

She sighed, a hand scrunching up and massaging her forehead as she looked down at the metal surface of the table. It was gray and almost sparkly under the bright, almost midday sun, and the light reflecting off of it felt like a finger in both eyes when they were still tired and sore. “I know,” she huffed and almost tensed when Elias’ hand squeezed her knee under the table in a reassuring gesture she hadn’t expected. “I just…”

“Nothing happened, Lyudka.” Tachanka knew how to be menacing — he was huge and imposing, a real mountain in human form, and he could be equally terrifying both with and without his helmet. But the look on his face was so sincere, and the half-smile he was throwing her way so sweet and reassuring, that she couldn’t _not_ believe him.

“But it could have,” she insisted, inhaling a sharp drag of smoke. “It almost _did_. Half a second earlier, and Dominic wouldn’t have a head anymore now. I should’ve seen that guy, I should’ve-”

“You shot him down, that’s what matters,” Elias intervened, tipping his glass back to finish his drink. “Dom is fine. Shit, he’s _great_! And he loves you just the same.”

“Kid’s right. ‘Terrorist’ doesn’t necessarily mean ‘incompetent asshole’,” Adriano smiled. “Some of them do their job just as well as we do. Aria got a bullet in her leg because of me once, and we’re still good. Mistakes happen, and you shouldn’t spend so much time brooding over a ‘what if’ when things already went the other way.”

Defeated, Lyudmyla sighed. She sipped on her drink, smoked Alexsandr’s cigarette, and a second before a message made Adriano’s phone beep, she nodded. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“Anyway, buzzkill. We’re going out tonight,” Sanya declared and by the tone of his voice, she knew there was little to no room to complain about the plan he had come up with for the whole group. It was a way to keep the feeling of camaraderie going for a little longer, before the post-op high and exhaustion faded away and they went back to a half-idle wait for a new mission. “We’re all getting some pussy.” His grin widened and his eyes closed as he inhaled sharply from his nose before exhaling even more noisily from his mouth. “Or dick,” he added, eyes shooting open when he turned to look at her. “Or both.”

The way he stared at her made a shiver run down her spine and for a long minute, before Dominic joined them with a beer in one hand and his phone in the other, she couldn’t look away from the stormy blue of his eyes.

*

The knocking on her door was what woke her up at three thirty-seven in the afternoon. Lyudmyla had slept for less than two hours, but she felt better than she had in what could have very well been forever. Her back arched as her arms stretched toward the headboard, and a drawled-out moan of satisfaction crawled up her throat and almost made her lips tingle.

It took her a while before her still-sleepy brain put two and two together and she fully registered the knocking and the voice calling her name from the corridor.

“ _I’m going to put my hands on the door pad if you don’t come, Lyuda!_ ”

Dominic’s insistence made her chuckle but a moment later she managed to yell out a _Wait a sec!_ The light throbbing in the muscles of her legs showed up again when she stood from the bed after successfully managing to untangle her feet from the mess the blankets had become while she slept.

“The plan was to take a bath when I woke up,” she half-heartedly complained when she opened the door to reveal the man she had almost got killed. “ _Not_ to babysit you, Dom.”

Laughter seemed to rumble directly in his chest when he put a hand on her shoulder and pushed her backward to step into her room. “No one is stopping you, _Schatzi_. What, are you suddenly shy? After that emergency shower we had to take back in Syria?”

“You are so full of yourself sometimes.” But it was said in a light voice, and Bandit knew she didn’t mean it in a negative way.

He stood there as she made her bed, and he barely moved out of her way when she reached the window he was standing in front of so that she could open the curtains. Light entered the room again, and the creamy colors of the furniture seemed to turn a bit more welcoming than they had looked in the half-darkness.

“We were worried,” he said after a while, when she indeed started to fill up the bathtub to soak into that bubble bath they all shared the need and wish for in their fantasy. “You didn’t show up at lunch.”

When she turned around, after dropping some of the hotel’s complimentary body wash into the tub, she found him leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed against his chest. He wasn’t wearing a bandage on his arm anymore, but she knew there was band-aid tape on the stitched wound on his left bicep.

“I was tired,” she shrugged, turning around to face away from him so that she could take her shirt off. He was right — he _had_ seen her naked, so she couldn’t see a problem in doing just as he had proposed. They joked and bantered, but there was nothing more than friendship between them and for once, it was perfect that way. “I didn’t sleep much last night, and that fucking meeting got my breakfast stuck in my stomach.”

From behind her, she heard his amused chuckle. “Burger King truly does sound like a light lunch after all…” he joked, hinting at the empty box that laid forgotten on the table.

“Oh, shut up,” she tried not to scoff.

She dared a look over her shoulder when her hands reached the clasp of her bra, but she found him staring the other way, back into the bedroom. Not a word left her lips on the topic, but she mentally thanked him as she finished undressing and climbed into the tub.

“You hurried away right after noon,” he spoke again, this time fully walking into the bathroom to come and sit down on the floor next to her. He had his back against the side of the tub, the back of his neck resting right against the edge, and for a moment they found themselves staring into each other’s eyes. “You sure you’re okay?”

A soft sigh on her part, and then her lips came down to press a kiss to his forehead. “I’m just… so very sorry,” she admitted. “And before you start, too, the guys have already tried to talk me out of it.”

“Yeah, too bad your skull is too thick.”

“Oh, shut it!” They laughed together for a moment, and it was good to be light again, with not a worry in the world but what Sanya had planned to drag them into that night. “I’m serious, though. I almost cost you your life, and all because I looked in the right direction a moment too late.”

He turned around, and one hand slipped down underneath the surface of the water for a moment before he moved it back up on the edge of the tub. “What can I do to make you stop worrying about it, _ptisha_?”

Her lips parted to reply back, but then his words registered and she furrowed her brows. “What? What’s that?”

“What? Ain’t that how Glaz calls you?” he shrugged.

It took her a moment to realize what he meant and when she did, laughter bubbled up again. “ _Ptichka_ , oh my God!” she corrected him, and added a playful slap to the back of his head for good measure.

“Yeah, exactly what I said.” He tried his best puppy dog eyes on her, but if there was one sure thing, it was how badly they always failed. He was big and rough, and the scar he had on his head didn’t help him any, and so, instead of relying on them to have things done his way, he used them on her to make her laugh.

After that, they sat in comfortable silence, both their backs pressed against the wall. He even let her play with his left hand in hers. She dipped it into the bubbly water and then picked it out again, removed the bubbles with her forefinger — the one she used to pull the trigger — and then started again. It was relaxing, a nice way to empty both their minds after the hectic days they’d had on their mission.

“Are you going back home once we’re done here?” she asked after a while, when he knelt by the tub to rub shampoo in her hair. She didn’t really need to wash it again, but it was nice to have someone pamper her every once in a while, and so she let him do.

His answer was a hum as he massaged her scalp. Her eyes were closed and that was how she missed the comically focused expression on his face. “Are you?”

She sighed in contentment at his touch and it took her half a minute to reply, relaxed as she was in the warm water and the cozy atmosphere of the bathroom. “No, I’m probably going back to the base. I don’t feel like going back and have my mother over. _You should leave that absurd job and do something more appropriate for someone like you_ , that’s what she’d say.” And then, when he pointed out that he spoke no Russian and that she should _speak a more comprehensible language_ , she translated. “I was born into a military family, I don’t understand what she expected me to become. A kindergarten teacher? Knowing my father, I probably even held a gun before I held a book.”

“You’re a full adult, fuck what the old woman says!” His exclamation made her tremble with laughter and he had to tell her to keep still or he’d get water in her eyes. A moment later, he started washing the shampoo out. “Come to Berlin with me,” he proposed. “I’ll introduce you to my brother and the kids, and you’ll have the chance to pay me back for this head wash.”

It was truly something, the way he made her feel — light and weightless, with butterflies inside that weren’t due to some form of crush or physical attraction. From different groups and yet, she sometimes felt closer to him than she did her Russians. It was easy — _spending time with him_ was easy, it made all her worries and thoughts leave her mind in peace.

“C’mon, _ptisha_ ,” he joked again, grabbing the towel from the hanger with one hand and extending the other for her to grab so that he could help her out. “Let’s not replay the broken nose you got in Syria.”

*

As it turned out, Alexsandr had rented a nice convertible at the expenses of the organization and had dragged them around the city before reaching his destination. Black and sleek, driving in it had felt like it just _glided_ on the asphalt as she had sat there, in the passenger seat, with the wind moving her hair all over the place and laughter spilling from her lips. Even now, in the high-end nightclub Sanya had been recommended by God knows who, there was still that same kind of excitement making her fingertips tingle.

Four shots into the night, Lyuda was free. The loud music felt like the weirdest kind of contrast to the new routine of the latest mission and as she danced, it seemed to loosen up all of the knots she had carried in her muscles till that night. Dominic’s injury, the hostages, the terrorists, it all faded into a blurry chaos that got drowned out by the people around her and left her mind pleasantly empty.

The Germans were still sitting in their corner, she was sure of it — smoking weed when she was fairly certain they shouldn’t be allowed to, but they didn’t care. The initial plan had concerned both Tachanka and Maestro, but only the latter had accepted and shown to be down with trying. Sanya had scowled, said he needed _no weed to relax and enjoy the party_ and had kept on muttering under his breath until she had dragged him to the bar before dumping him there.

_A drink will do him good_ — or so she had thought — _still did_. She had left him there without thinking and had joined all those strangers on the dance floor, letting go to the unknown song the DJ was playing up in her booth.

She didn’t jolt when a pair of hands placed themselves on her hips and someone breathed down her neck, lips barely brushing against her skin. She had danced with a couple of guys already — no one worth mentioning, just good distractions that kept her mind as far as possible from RAINBOW and NATO and the meeting that was going to be held the morning after. One had tried to touch her, though, to let his hands go down her hips to the hem of the mini dress her friends had dropped in her hands when Dom had left her hotel room and then back up underneath the cool, almost silk-like material, and it was then that she had moved away, too relaxed to be bothered and put up a fight — one she knew she’d win.

But she was thinking about Elias — about his hand on her knee that morning and the _Why don’t you blow_ me _?_ he had whispered in her ear before leaving the hotel, an amused reply to the _I’ll blow your knees out_ she had let out at a stupid punchline he had come up with. She had hoped he’d join her, that he’d moan dirty German she couldn’t understand right against her skin, and then maybe throw her over his shoulder and carry her someplace quiet, show her a good time. It made her feel bad, the way she thought of him as a ‘good fuck’ because Elias was really a nice person, one she admired and cared for, but that was the reality of things. Both for her and for _him_ — it was a thing that went both ways, that was _matched_ by both parties, and for the time being, it was good.

The man she was grinding against wasn’t Blitz, though, she noticed with a gasp when she turned around.

Alexsandr was staring down at her, an amused and tipsy smirk plastered on his lips. It was a surprise, to find him there, against her, his hands now down on her buttcheeks, gently pawing at them. He _was_ twice her age, just as Elias had reminded her that morning in the elevator, but she’d be lying if she said the thought of him had never crossed her mind. Fucking _massive_ and resilient, and yet ever so delicate when it came to his weapons; always saying things how he saw and thought them, and she _did_ find that _attractive_.

He twirled her around. Lost in her thoughts as she was, with the alcohol in her system pleasantly making her head float just a few inches higher than normal, she almost lost her balance as his antics made her chuckle out loud. It lasted for a heartbeat, and then she was back to square one, her back against his chest and his arms caging her in this time, his hands on her hips making them sway.

“Everything alright with Bandit?” he yelled in her ear as one of his hands trailed up her side and somehow stopped on the front of her throat.

It was… hot, somehow. His warm skin against hers seemed to burn her sweat away, and his lips moving right against her earlobe made the baby hairs on the back of her head stand up on their ends.

She nodded against him, suddenly brought back to the guilt she had felt for how things had gone with Dominic. But he had assured her — more than once — that things were just as peachy as always between them, and she had no reason to doubt his words, not when nothing at all seemed to have changed — in the way he talked to her, looked at her, simply acted around her. He had made her promise she’d go to Berlin with him, and she had playfully told him that she wouldn’t keep that promise, but both knew they’d soon be on the same plane, headed towards the same destination.

Dom wasn’t on her mind for long, though, not when Sanya was grinding right back against her. And she could feel him. _God_ , she could _feel_ him, confined as he was in his black pants, almost nestled between her buttcheeks. The feel of him, the way he was moving, breathing down her neck, his lips ghosting against her skin — her eyes closed, her eyelids heavy, and she rested her head back against him, a soft sigh of contentment and pure peace slipping past her lips.

The music faded away, and at the same time, it seemed to buzz in her veins, to beat right in her temples as her arms came up and she placed her hands on the sides of his neck. There seemed to be nothing else for a moment or two, until his right hand moved away from her hip and slipped down her thigh much like that nameless man had done earlier. Her eyes shot open then, and the nightclub was back where it had always been, with its DJ and her music and all those unaware people dancing the night away.

Suddenly hyper-aware of every touch of his, her hand moved away from his neck for a second, almost shooting down to stop his out of instinct, before she brought it back where it was.

He kissed the side of her neck — he truly did, this time; it wasn’t just the ghost of a kiss, with his lips being but a feather against her skin. He kissed her neck, one-day stubble grazing her skin, and his hand slipped past the hem of her dress, his fingers trailed up her inner thigh before they reached her clothed core.

Her heartbeat was louder than the music, she could have bet her right hand on it, and it almost felt as though her heart had jumped up in her throat, making it hard to keep her breathing steady and slow. That _thump-thump_ was in her temples, in her eardrums, and even down in the pit of her stomach as one of his fingers traced a line on her panties — so loud that she didn’t catch what he yelled in her ear.

Then, without notice, lulled as she was by the movement of his hips still gently swaying against hers, his hand came up to her stomach and then slid underneath the elastic band of her underwear.

She tensed against him, tried to turn around and tell him something along the lines of _not here, not now_ , but one of his fingers slipped between her folds and teased her for a moment before swiftly nudging her clit.

“Nobody will see anything,” were the words in her ear as she ground her hips back and despite — or probably _because of_ — the thrill mounting inside her, she blindly chose to trust him.

The place was packed, sure, but anyone could turn around and catch him with an arm across her body, his hand between her paralyzed legs. It was thrilling in a way, almost exhilarating, and she tilted her head to the side to grant him access to her neck.

Then, a thought crossed her mind like a meteor. She didn’t exactly know what happened to RAINBOW operators that had feelings for each other, or that were simply caught while getting down to business. A nightclub didn’t grant the same level of privacy a hotel room did, and for a moment — before his middle finger pushed inside her and she decided that she truly didn’t care — she wondered if someone ever checked the security tape of the places they went to.

Sanya’s finger was thick, the fingertip slightly calloused by use. Its slow and steady pumping made her toes curl in her sneakers and her head press back against him as she felt him smile against her neck.

It was a slow teasing, unhurried, proving a patience Lyuda didn’t know Alexsandr had. It made her insides tense, her breathing come out ragged and uneven, completely uncontrolled when he added another finger. She felt the stretch then — hot and delicious, in a way, making blood rush to her skin and burn in her cheeks. His thumb was on her clit, and its movements were lazy and irregular as he focused on fingering her, gently scissoring his fingers as her walls contracted around them.

“Sanya.” It was a groan, and although he felt the vibrations under his lips, he didn’t hear it above the scream of the music.

So close. _Oh God_ , she thought — so close to losing it in the middle of a nightclub, with someone twice her age edging her closer and closer to an orgasm that was making her body hum in anticipation.

The idea that he had somehow — sometimes — thought of _her_ was enough to almost make her feel delirious. It was easy, to forget about anything else when you were on the job, with a loaded weapon in your hands, even more strapped to your body, and a plan to follow, an objective to hit. Your focus was all there, on the very center of the target, and thoughts of anything else didn’t even knock on your mind’s door. But then, when you stepped back, mission accomplished and the permission to go back home for a while in your hands…

She pulled his hand out from inside her and as she did so, her eyes rolled to the back of her head, air coming in sharply from her nose as she tried her best to get a grip back on herself. One deep breath in, one deep breath out — and it was good to know he wasn’t insisting on keeping his hand where it had been for the past minutes, that he was respecting her spaces — she wouldn’t have expected anything else from someone like him.

But then she turned around, lips parted and cheeks bright, his hand still in hers, big and warm and finger wet and sticky. She brought them to her lips, kissed the fingertips of his middle and ring fingers before pulling them into her mouth and sucking them clean.

The smirk was still on his face and under the ever-changing lights of the club, his expression seemed to constantly change as well as he stared at her, eyes set on hers and never leaving.

He had her pressed against a wall in a matter of minutes, her back to the solid surface and her legs wrapped around his hips as he ever so slowly thrust up into her pussy — and neither of them knew exactly _how_ they had come to find themselves in that position, in that dark corner with people less than five meters away.

The music was a blessing — probably the cause for a headache in the morning, but at that moment a blessing no doubt, concealing all her whimpers and moans as his dick stretched her open.

He was big — and on that there had never been a doubt. _Proportionate_ — that was the word her old high school friend Nina would have used to describe him —, no doubt taking the first place among the men she had ever been with. The stretch was delicious, and the feel of him — heavy and thick inside her — was enough to make her eyes roll as her nails scratched at his neck.

She was panting when his hipbones pressed against hers and he was fully sheathed inside her; panting and whimpering as she felt herself clamp down on him. And his breath was scorching hot against the side of her neck, his right temple pressing against her shoulder.

His hips moved back, then, and the drag of him inside her made her head fall back against the wall as she fought to breathe when he pushed back in. It was a slow rhythm — slow but slowly mounting, making her mind and her body dance closer and closer to the delirious climax he seemed to promise her. At some point, when his hands moved down to grab her thighs and he tilted his hips up in a slightly different angle, a low moan scratched up her throat as the tip of his cock hit deeper inside her.

She was whimpering his name, a litany of _Sanya, Sanya, Sanya_ that he couldn’t hear but that he could read on her lips as he stared at them, his own lips parted as he grunted, thrusts growing more and more unfocused the closer he was to orgasm.

Less than a minute later, as pleasure went off in her body and behind her closed eyelids, she would have seen Elias stare at her with a smirk on his lips had she had her eyes open.

*

The morning after Lyudmyla was sitting next to Elias at the very back of the conference room, where she knew they wouldn’t be attracting anybody’s attention in case one of them were to take a nap. And although she was as uninterested as the day before and had passed a sleepless night after they had got back to the hotel at around two in the morning, tired as they were, she couldn’t seem to be able to fall asleep again.

Eyes set on the spokesperson talking non-stop at the other end of the room, the pleasant soreness in her muscles was the only thing she could actually focus on.

Sanya had bruised her, that night — she had found his handprints on her thighs when she took a shower before bed. Big, red handprints on her outer thighs that had kept her awake all night as she replayed the nightclub quickie she could still feel in her very core over and over again. His lips on her, and then his tongue on her neck, his fingers — on her clit, inside her, on her throat, her thighs — and then…

“Myla.”

It was by pure miracle that she didn’t moan out loud when Elias whispered her name in her ear, his lips close enough to be perceived but not felt. He had moved a hand on her thigh, and his thumb gently soothing her inner thigh from above her pants made her lungs squeeze, the air come out hot and quick from her nose.

_God_ , was the only word that kept on bouncing around inside her head. _God_. Her mind wandered, as it had been wandering all morning already, and for a moment she experienced the first actual thought of the day: What would it be like, to have both Elias and Alexsandr in her bed, even just for once?

And at that, there came another one: What would he — Elias — say if he knew about what she had done that night? What would he _do_? They weren’t exclusive, she didn’t belong to him just as he didn’t belong to her, but it would be a lie to say that she wasn’t curious.

His nose brushed against the shell of her ear, then, and all thoughts fled from her mind. “Are you still thinking about his cock?”

She gasped, but the sound was low enough to only be heard from the few people sitting close to them. When she turned around — to answer honestly or to just stare at him in shock, she wasn’t sure —, she found him staring ahead and even though his hand was still on her leg, it was now in a position more befitting to their surroundings and the seriousness of the meeting.

Her gaze trailed back towards the stage of the room, her breathing now a little labored as she took in the new person speaking — someone from RAINBOW, but at that moment she couldn’t remember his name for the life of her.

The muscles in her thighs tensed. Her mind was running a mile a minute, but without producing actual thoughts. It was just Sanya’s thrusts up into her as she clenched down on him and Elias’ awareness of what had happened, and they were both on loop, overlapping until their edges got too blurred to be recognized.

He opened his legs a little wider, then, and she caught the movement from the corner of her eye. As his knee pressed into her leg, the fabric of his pants stretched tight on his thigh and the only thing she could think of, was that time he had made her ride it, the day before Dominic had got hit.

She wanted to leave. She felt the need to stand up, grab his hands and drag him down the corridor — to the restroom or the elevator and then up to one of their rooms, she hadn’t made a decision yet — and get things going. But she didn’t want another call from _upstairs_ , and so she resolved on staying put and just moved her hand over his to grip it.

“Is that why you couldn’t look at him in the eye at breakfast?” Elias asked when the debate started and there was enough noise in the room for him to murmur those words, everybody’s attention now fully set on something concrete. His hand didn’t move from where it laid on her thigh and although for the better, it slowed her brain down. “Because you kept on thinking about him fucking you against a wall?”

Her gaze came down to frantically look at his watch, just to then remember he barely ever wore one, just like she.

She shook her head and absentmindedly, her legs opened a bit wider, his left one pressing right into his knee. “No,” but her voice trembled when she spoke.

He chuckled.

It was a tense half-hour the one that followed. They both sat there, listening to what people said and proposed, but Lyuda’s mind was somewhere else — _with someone_ else. Her gaze kept on flickering to her left as she checked Elias out from the corner of her eye. It was excruciating, to have him there next to her, an amused smirk on his lips, when he was talking about someone else fucking the sanity out of her.

_God_. Fuck. Hadn’t it been for Six, she would have left that room. And hadn’t it been for that _stupid_ high-level meeting, she would have her hands on him and his on hers. And for no reason other than how much she enjoyed being with him.

His hand cupped her from above her pants and she lost it. Almost. She gripped his wrist, blunt nails digging into his flesh, and the soreness and the feeling of Sanya inside her came back.

“Let’s leave,” she whispered as she sat there, on the edge of her seat and turned into an absolute bundle of nerves. Her eyes didn’t meet his and instead, they remained set on the window wall in front of her. Why were they brought there, to this absurd event that barely had anything to do with them? Why did she have to let herself get involved with him in the first place? “God, Elias, let’s leave.”

She had her jaw set, her right hand wrapped into a fist at her side, on the chair, and her thighs clenched and trapped his hand in-between them.

“The meeting’s not over yet,” he replied.

When she turned to look at him, eyes wide and lips tight, half a curse starting to form on the tip of her tongue, people started to stand up and he quickly freed his hand from her hold.

They stood, shook hands with a few people as they eyed those from the organization to have a nod of confirmation that allowed them to leave. And when they received one, she grabbed his hand in hers and dragged him outside, and on their way to the elevator, she almost crashed into that very Mark Porter that had committed the mistake of underestimating her the day prior.

“Relax, Myla,” Elias said when the doors of the elevator closed and the liftman pressed the button for her floor. He had one hand on her hip as he stood right behind her, his left leg pressing into the back of her right. “What got you so worked up?”

He was smirking, she was sure of it, she could hear it in his voice as he pressed that half-erection of his against her rear end, lucky in the fact that he was being discreet and that the liftman was minding his own business, probably too hypnotized by how many hours he spent in there with the same elevator music in his ears.

“You’re a dick,” but they both knew she didn’t really mean it.

Back in her room, the electronic keycard thrown blindly on the table, he pulled her to him and kissed her breathless. His lips were insistent, just as hungry as always, even if they had all the time in the world in this hotel. He pulled on her lower lip and then kissed down her cheek to her jaw, and then down her neck, one hand quickly unbuttoning her pants to slip into her panties.

“You like them older?” he groaned against her as the pad of his middle finger massaged her clit. Her hands moved to his hair, nails gently scraping his scalp as her body seemed to purr against his. “Or was it the thrill of a public place?”

One of his legs moved in-between hers and she had to do her best not to cave in and grind herself down against it.

It was when he pulled back to look at her, a grin plastered on his lips, that she came back to reality and took his hands out of her pants.

“What, _Elias_?” she smirked, pushing him back until the back of his legs hit her bed and he fell down to sitting. She bent down and pecked his lips as her hand trailed down the front of his button-down shirt to his crotch. A hum left her lips right against his as they stared into each other’s eye. “Did it make you hard?”

Her fingers traced his outline downward before her hand flattened against him.

“Did the sight of Alexsandr fucking me get you going?”

She kissed his neck as he choked on a chuckle, his hands trailing up to her hips until he managed to pull her down onto his thigh.

“Did you spend the night thinking about it?” she moaned, lips moving up the side of his neck to gently suckle right underneath his ear.

“I never thought I’d be into sharing,” he confessed, turning his head to meet her lips in a kiss. It was soft and slow this time, and a hum crawled its way up Lyuda’s throat as her free hand moved to cradle the back of his head. “But shit, that was fucking hot.”

She chuckled a _yeah_ when she slid off his thigh and knelt between his legs. Her actions were slow and deliberate when she pulled down his zipper, eyes set on his as he stared down at her, breath almost hitching in his throat when he pushed his weight up with his hands to let her take his pants and briefs down to his ankles.

“Maybe we should call Sanya,” she hummed, breath hot against the sensitive skin of his dick. She licked a stripe up, from balls to tip, before she smirked. “Ask him if he’s up for a threesome…”

Her lips wrapped around his head and his breath hissed, his reply got stuck in his throat. He didn’t lie down when she took him in her mouth for a moment before pulling back to lick at his underside. Instead, he kept his eyes on hers and Lyuda could feel them even without seeing them.

She kissed and licked him, got him wet before she started using her hand. Her movements were slow and controlled and when her mouth came down again to suck him off, both his hands came up to her head to keep her in place.

The more she teased him, tongue swiping over his frenulum, the more labored his breathing got, and when his hips started to thrust up a little, he pulled her head up and begged her to stop in a whisper, eyes almost closed and brows furrowed in concentration.

“Undress and lay down,” he asked, hands still cradling her head as she looked up at him.

It made her burst with pride each time, the way she managed to work him up. Elias was an entertaining lover to have, if so he could be described, and she loved watching him fall to his feet in front of her.

And instead of teasing him, of keeping up the game, she stood up and made a deliberate decision to strip down for him. Slow and teasing, and she watched him take himself in his hand the second after tearing his shirt off his body as he stared at her.

_He bruised you?_ There was no need to ask it out loud, for she saw the question in his eyes, in the knitting of his brows. Elias had never bruised her — maybe once, but he was very careful not to leave marks behind. Uncomfortable questions were the last thing either of them wanted, so the unspoken rule begged for _no bruises_ and _no hickeys_.

When she laid down, he was quick at moving over her body, kissing up from her abdomen to her lips, and his tongue came out to tease her nipples in passing, drawing a sigh from her.

“Was he harsh?” he hummed against her neck, one hand trailing down her side before moving between her legs.

She shook her head no and brought his lips back on hers just as he touched her. “But I’m still a bit sore,” she confessed, right thigh tensing when he brushed two fingers between her folds.

He kissed down her body again then, and this time his lips moved past her navel and he licked all the way up her slit to her clit. “I’ll be gentle, then.”

And it _did_ feel like a promise when he started going down on her, one finger and then two slowly pumping into her as he focused on her clit.

She could feel the noise his fingers made inside her — and then those groans of his that just made her toes curl.

He built her up slowly, almost as though they had all day to spend bunkered up in that room, just the two of them. And then, just as she felt herself getting closer and closer to her release, he slowed down, fingers still inside her but lips leaving kisses to her right inner thigh.

It wasn’t common, to have her beg for him, but this time was an exception. With Sanya’s rough fuck now in the back of her mind, her thoughts were all on the man between her legs and on the way she knew he could worship her body.

She hissed slightly when he pushed into her and it took her a moment or two to realize that he had stopped dead in his tracks and was now staring down at her.

“Do you want me to stop?” His voice trembled when she contracted around him, but there was a serious look in his eyes and she knew, then and there, that he’d follow through with whatever she felt more comfortable with.

It squeezed her heart, really, and she found herself smiling. “No, just start off slow.”

That he did. He pulled his hips back and then slowly eased himself back into her, and every time he reached a bit deeper. Hands covering the bruises another man had left on her thighs, his lips were on her breasts, tongue teasing and mouth sucking until her hands were on his back, pressing against his muscles as her back arched.

He moaned when her lips latched on his neck, on that sweet spot right on his pulse point, and she smiled into the action. He laid down flush against her when she pulled him down, and his hands moved from her thighs to underneath her butt as his thrusts deepened.

She called his name, voice trembling and faint as she closed her eyes and swore she could see stars. She had never felt closer to him than right now, with him moving slowly against her — and so deep that she would swear she felt him in her soul.

Her legs wrapped tighter around his waist and as she did so, he angled her hips a bit better.

_Elias_ — and then she was gone, nails scratching down his back as she came, back arching and breasts pressing into him, thighs locking against his sides. A few thrusts more, and then he followed suit, grunting his orgasm into her neck as his thrusts turned snappier, and then sloppier. And then, when they both came down from their highs and their breathing was back under control, they both gasped at the condom they had forgotten to use.

He cleaned her up when he pulled out and she heard him chuckle to himself on his way back to the bathroom when she squealed out of happiness. He had given her the all-clear about the whole Sanya situation and so, as she waited for him, she picked up her phone from the nightstand where she had left it all morning and texted Alexsandr. She was promising for a good time now that they finally had some time off — _he_ even more, since he never showed up to the meetings — and she knew that Sanya would never turn such an offer down.

Still, she watched powerless as her text got read — _just read_.

“Is he coming?” Elias asked when he walked back and lay down next to her.

He was strong and warm, and Lyuda felt herself relax in his arms as he played with her hair.

“I don’t know, but I hope so.” She was looking into his eyes as he repeatedly pecked her lips, and the laughter that bubbled up was hard to contain. “I’ll just need you to remind him to take it easy on me if I can’t talk.”

She let him kiss her, arched up against him as she molded into his arms, and that _You have nothing to worry about_ of his seemed to linger in the hot air around them for a little longer, until someone knocked on the door and shattered the magic of the moment.

_It’s me. Open up_ , read the message she received right after.


End file.
